Postcards are of the Devil.

Little papers that fill the mailbox

until it is near bursting, taunting me

to look.

Pictures of exotic people, exotic places.

Of delight, of warmth of


And so small,

so simple.

Only enough room

for you to write;

miss you, wish you

were here.

Postcards are of the Devil,

taunting me

with so few words.